


Cold Fusion

by psychthriller



Series: Heat Exchange [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Body Worship, Creampie, Decoy Bartender, Dirty Talk, Drinking, F/M, Female Reader, Holographic Bartender, King's Canyon, Monsterfucking, Multiple Orgasms, One Night Stand, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paradise Lounge, Robot Sex, Robot fetishism, Robot/Human Relationships, Rough Sex, Simulacra, Simulacrums, Spanking, Teratophilia, The Paradise Lounge, reader POV, solace, technosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychthriller/pseuds/psychthriller
Summary: “You said you’ve fucked a robot before,” Revenant says again. “But never a Simulacrum?”You gaze up at him, nodding, and hoping that it’s not some kind of deal-breaker or something, because all of a sudden you really,reallywanna fuck a Simulacrum.He’s silent for a moment, looking you over like he could eat you alive.“I’ve got another question for you, girlie,” he growls, lowering himself over you again and mouthing at your throat, still teasing your opening with the tip of his dick.“Mmmm,”you sigh, grinding up against him. “What is it?”He pauses, bringing his mouth up to your ear and pinching the lobe between his metal lips before growling against your throat, “Have you ever fucked amonster?”---Fem!Reader is idling away a hot summer night at Mirage's bar,The Paradise Lounge,when she encounters a cold-hearted machine who introduces her to a kind of heat that burns even hotter than Solace's sun.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Female Reader, Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Reader, Revenant (Apex Legends)/Female Reader, Revenant (Apex Legends)/Reader, Revenant (Apex Legends)/You
Series: Heat Exchange [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833229
Comments: 23
Kudos: 222





	Cold Fusion

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Sorry for my long absence -- I was dealing with some health issues but I'm doing better, and I'm excited to get back to writing. The next chapter of Spider Byte will be out in the next few weeks, but since it's been so long since the last update, I figured y'all deserved a lil treat. This is just a silly, self-indulgent one-shot, but I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it! Enjoy!

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at, skinsuit?” asks the freaky-looking Spectre that’s been staring you down from across the bar for the better part of two hours.  
  
_Dude, are you serious?_ _  
_  
“I’m not the one with the staring problem, buddy,” you reply cooly, looking down at your phone, because making eye contact is terrifying.  
  
“Excuse me?” he growls, in a voice that sends chills down your spine.  
  
_Shit. Here we go._  
  
“You heard me,” you snap, a little more aggressively than you normally might have, thanks to the alcohol. “What is your fucking problem, dude? You’re the one staring, I’m just trying to get drunk.”  
  
To be fair, it’s the truth. It _is_ a bar, after all. _The Paradise Lounge_ isn’t usually this dead, but tonight there are...extenuating circumstances. It’s late Tuesday evening and Elliott Witt’s little hole-in-the-wall is usually far livelier than this, even on a weeknight. You suspect the lack of other customers may have something to do with the frightening, rude-as-fuck robo-killer seated at the opposite side of the C-shaped bartop. There’d been a few other customers when you arrived hours earlier, alone. But you’ve noticed that the other patrons have begun leaving one-by-one since Skeletor over there showed up. Now he’s giving you shit on your own turf? _Fuck that._ You’re a regular, you have way more right to be here than this grumpy metal ghoul.  
  
“Huh,” the Spectre grunts, crossing his arms over his chest and sounding far more human than he has any right to with a face that fucking scary.  
  
_What, no snappy retort? Yeah, bitch. That’s right. Shut yo ass up._  
  
For some inexplicably stupid reason, you’re shaking. Your heart’s thumping a little louder than it was a few moments ago, before the murderbot started talking to you.  
  
It’s probably just the alcohol.

He lights a cigarette with an ion torch in the tip of his right thumb, ignoring the glowing NO SMOKING hologram projected across the wall just above his head. Taking a drag, he continues staring you down, like he’s daring you to say something about it. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, but you don’t really care about the cigarette. Instead, your curiosity suddenly gets the better of you, and you can’t keep from blurting out the question that’s been boggling your mind from the moment he took a seat across from you at the bar two hours ago.

“What are you even doing here?” you ask. “I mean, c-can you, like, actually drink, or--?”

“I can _taste,”_ he growls, staring right at you and dipping two metal claws into his glass of whiskey, swirling them around in the amber liquid before slipping them between his metal lips. You shudder. Something about it is almost lewd -- or would be, if he...it...wasn’t a robot. For a moment you’re almost sure you can sense his gaze lingering on your cleavage.  
_  
_ _Face is up here, buddy._ _  
_ _  
_ _Eh. He’s a machine. He’s probably just analyzing the best spot to stab me with that crazy murder arm._ _  
_  
Sex robots are a thing. This is not a sex robot. This is a murder robot. This murder robot robot-murdered a man on live television just a few months ago, and this murder robot only wants, if anything, to murder you, too. Probably.  
  
There’s one other guy left in the bar besides you, this metal monstrosity, and the holographic bartender. He’s got synthetic flesh from his ears to his collarbones, and he seems to have noticed what an odd pair you and this robot make. A little drone hovers at his shoulder. You lock eyes with this other patron, a handsome fellow, and he gives you a piteous sort of look that says _do you want me to make that thing fuck off?_

While you’d normally be grateful, you’re entirely sure this poor dude would not survive the encounter. So you smile and shake your head slightly. His eyes widen for a moment, then he shrugs, smirking, and rises from his booth to go settle up his tab at the register. Moments later, the little camera drone is zooming out the front door behind him.  
  
And now you’re all alone.  
  
Well, not _all_ alone. Besides yourself and the murder robot, the holographic bartender is still puttering around, wiping down the bar and folding silverware into napkins, seemingly desperate for anything to do besides interact with his last two customers of the evening. You can’t really blame the poor guy. You kind of wish the real Elliott was here tonight. Mainly because he’s usually armed.

“Hey, holoskin--” Revenant snaps his metal fingers, getting the holographic bartender’s attention. “Hit me. And get the lady a…”  
  
He nods your way, gesturing for you to finish his sentence.

“Thanks, but I don’t accept drinks from strange men,” you reply, smiling sweetly. “Or strange...whatever it is that you are.”  
  
“Then let’s not be strangers,” he purrs, rising from his stool and striding over to the one next to yours. “They call me Revenant.”

He sticks out his spidery metal palm, but when you go to shake his hand, he pulls yours upwards, pressing his cold, metal lips to the back of your hand instead of shaking it, and consequently knocking the breath right out of your lungs.  
  
“And you are?” he asks, stroking the knuckles of your hand with his cool, smooth thumb twice before releasing it.  
  
“Uh,” you reply, like an idiot.  
  
Once you’ve recovered enough to properly introduce yourself, two glasses and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon have somehow appeared between the two of you. The shy little bartender, however, has disappeared to the back of the house, presumably to lock himself in the freezer or jump back in his holoemitter and wait ‘til the murdering is over.  
  
_Awesome. No one will be around to hear my screams. Fuck, what am I doing?_  
  
“What a lovely name,” the mechanical monster purrs, taking a sip of his drink.  
  
_Where the fuck does the liquid go???_  
  
“You sure are layin’ it on thick, buddy,” you snipe, hoping to poke a few holes in his performative bravado and find your own footing in the process.  
  
“It’s called flirting, skinsuit,” he growls, downing the last of his drink and stepping off his barstool to come stand at yours, right between your parted knees. “But since you’re so impatient, we can go ahead and get right to the fucking, if you want.”  
  
Goosebumps pop up all over your skin. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t....curious.

 _Fuck. I’m drunk. Do not fuck the murder robot, me. DO. NOT._  
  
“Such a gentleman,” you sneer, rolling your eyes as you fold your arms across your chest and swivel your stool away from him, back to face the bar. “Well, aren’t you presumptuous? What gives you the idea that I’d even want to--”  
  
“Oh sweetheart, you got it all wrong,” the metal assassin murmurs, interrupting and leaning in close even though there’s no one around to hear him but you. “I’m not gentle. And I’m damn sure not a man anymore.”  
  
There’s a pause that isn’t quite awkward, but not quite not-awkward, either. Despite your best efforts, you find yourself swiveling the hovering barstool back towards the murderbot. He’s sizing you up, scanning you with that glowing yellow gaze again, and it’s starting to make you feel a little self-conscious. But you’re distracted from said self-consciousness by a frightening revelation that has only just dawned on you: this robot -- this _murder_ bot -- is attractive.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
He’s handsome, somehow, despite also being an unholy terror to look at. Graceful in his movements, even when he’s murdering people on TV or in the Games, he looks more like a dancer than a robotic murder-machine. He’s charming, too. You wonder if the ability to flirt was programmed into him, because he is totally flirting with you and he is _totally_ getting away with it, too. He’s also totally getting right up in your face, like, right this very moment.  
  
“What--?” you gasp, cut off by the shock of a cold metal hand sliding up your thigh.  
  
You’re frozen, too scared to move because you’ve seen the footage of that OTV interview, and you know what that hand is capable of. Suddenly you’re so scared you feel sober, despite having a stomach full of liquor.  
  
_What the fuck were you thinking? He could KILL you. He does not look like the type to enjoy anything other than scaring the shit out of people and murdering them._ _  
_ _  
_ The Spectre’s thumb is stroking back and forth across the top of your thigh, just beneath your skirt. All you can hear is your own ragged breath and the sound of your pulse racing in your ears.  
  
“You’re pretty,” the Spectre mutters, looking you over with those terrifying yellow eyes. “For a skinsuit.”

_The fuck? Are you trying to neg me or kill me? God, where is that bartender? Maybe if he sees this he’ll call...fuck, I don’t know! Call somebody! Preferably somebody with a gun!_

The metal assassin suddenly wraps his free hand around your throat, causing you to make an embarrassing noise of terror. He laughs, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat, just presses his thumb lightly against your throbbing jugular vein.  
  
_Shit, I definitely should have asked that drone guy with the fake skin to help me._  
  
“You’re afraid,” he murmurs. “I can feel it.”  
  
_No shit! Water is wet!_

If this were just about any other robot in the Outlands, it would be hot as fuck. Or if this one hadn’t _fucking murdered a guy_ on live TV, it would be hot as fuck. It _is_ hot as fuck, but any hotness is currently overshadowed by the sheer terror of knowing you’re likely just seconds away from your death.  
  
He releases your neck, then leans in, just inches from it, and inhales deeply.  
  
“I can smell it,” he growls. “Your fear. It’s delicious.”  
  
_Do you even have lungs? What the fuck?_  
  
“You smell just as good as you look,” he purrs darkly, sending chills down your spine.  
  
His hand slips around the back of your neck, cupping your jaw and running a thumb over your bottom lip as his other hand slides a little further up your thigh. You glare at him defiantly, but you can feel yourself shaking. He isn’t fooled.  
  
“Do you taste as good as you smell, skinsuit?” he asks deviously, stroking the inside of your upper thigh with a cold, hard thumb.  
  
You flush a little. “I, um, I--”  
  
“Then let’s find out,”

You gasp as he leans in even further, capturing your lips with his own metal ones and pinching your bottom lip between them. You whine, slipping your tongue into his mouth once he’s released your lip only to discover that _he doesn’t have a tongue._ You gasp again, and he freezes, but you’re far past the point of being able to hold back on the grounds of a little weirdness. Things were going to have to get a whole lot weirder before you were willing to call it a night. 

_Fuck it. You only live once._

(And, in your case, probably quite briefly.)

His mouth tastes of coppery blood and good bourbon and cigarettes and you can’t stop yourself from licking into it once he’s released your bottom lip.  
  
“Fuck,” he groans, and you realize he can speak _as he’s kissing you,_ because having an occupied mouth doesn’t affect the speakers emitting his voice from his throat.  
  
_God, that is_ **_so_ ** _wrong,_ you think, moaning into his empty, cavernous mouth. _And hot..._  
  
“Eager little skinsuit, aren’t you?” he growls against your lips, making you flush from head to toe because he’s _right._ “You want it bad.”  
  
“Shut up,” you gasp against his mouth, yanking some Apex coins from your purse and slamming them down on the bar before hopping off your barstool and making for the exit, dragging Revenant along by his metal wrist. The robot laughs.  
  
“Bossy little thing, too,” he remarks, sounding rather amused.  
  
“You gonna keep analyzing my character or are you gonna fuck me?” you snap as you turn the corner of the street leading to your apartment, only a few blocks away from the bar.  
  
The moment the door to your apartment closes behind you, he’s pressed you up against it, lifting you to wrap your thighs around his narrow, skeletal waist. You groan when you feel something hard beginning to protrude from beneath his loincloth, pressing against your cunt through your panties.  
  
“I’m analyzing a whole lot more than just your character tonight, girlie,” Revenant grunts, slipping those cold metal hands up your thighs and shoving your skirt up, grinding himself against the wet spot on your panties as he shamelessly squeezes a handful of asscheek, then gives it a playful little slap. “You ever fucked a robot, skinsuit?”  
  
“Yeah,” you gasp out. “You ever fucked a skinsuit, robot?”  
  
He laughs against your throat, but there’s no warm breath puffing against your skin, just cold metal vibrating against it with each word he speaks.  
  
“What do you think?” he murmurs darkly in your ear. “Hmmm, little girl? Do you think I’ve ever fucked a skinsuit before?”  
  
Before you can properly answer, two of those frightening metal claws are stuffed into your mouth, stroking over your tongue. He still seems to expect an answer, so you’re forced to nod awkwardly with his fingers down your throat.  
  
“Mhmm,” you manage.  
  
“What a smart little skinsuit you are,” he teases cruelly, yanking his fingers from your mouth only to lift you bodily from the ground and _toss you over his shoulder_ as he finds his way to your bedroom.  
  
Moments later you’re deposited in the center of your bed, and half a second after that, he is _on_ you, all over you, lurking above you, leaning down to smell you, scanning you with those frightening optics again. You shudder.  
  
“So you’ve fucked a robot,” he says again, dragging that cruel, cold mouth down the side of your throat, then your shoulder. “Have you ever fucked a Simulacrum?”  
  
_Oh. Holy shit._ _  
_ _  
_ _Well the bourbon habit makes a little more sense now, I guess. There’s a person in there._

“N-no,” you shudder.  
  
He chuckles dangerously, but stops when you voice a question he wasn’t expecting.

“What makes you different? I mean, I have _definitely_ fucked a vibrator before. What makes you so special? Why shouldn’t I just kick you out and, y’know, go to town on myself with my Hitachi?”  
  
There’s a pause, and for a moment, you’re pretty sure you’re fucked, figuratively, as in, about to be murdered to death for talking shit and biting off way more than you can chew. Or swallow.

But then he purrs _“why don’t you find out?”_ gripping one of your wrists to pull your hand between the two of you, where something cold and smooth and hard is jutting out from the spot where his loincloth normally hangs.  
  
You gasp at the feel of his cock in your palm -- you’re not sure what exactly you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. It’s not the kind of dick you’d see on a male synthetic sex worker -- no ribbing or ridges or glow-in-the-dark silicone SynthSkyn, no, he is pure, hard, unforgiving steel. He’s an older model, after all, designed far before robot-fucking was as widespread as it is now. Something about the relative simplicity of the design makes it even hotter. It’s thick and intimidatingly long, and it’s hard as, well, steel. Obviously. You notice something translucent, wet, and blue beginning to drip from the robot’s cockhead.  
  
Revenant groans when you give him a few experimental strokes, thumbing his slit and smearing that slippery blue liquid over the head of his metal cock.

“I hope you got a damn good health insurance plan, skinbag,” he growls, voice gone staticy and ragged, the way he sounds in the Games when he’s about to nail a particularly satisfying kill and, for a moment, seems almost possessed by his bloodlust. “‘Cause you’re gonna need it once I’m done with you.”

He sounds like he could eat you -- literally -- and _fuck,_ he probably could. He could slice you into little pieces. You try to focus less on the fact that you are definitely not escaping this night unscathed, and more on the fact that regardless, you are absolutely not going to let him see you flinch, because _fuck this guy for thinking he gets to just win by default just ‘cause he’s a spooky-scary skeleton._

He’s just so damn used to getting whatever he wants. But right now, you have the upper hand.  
  
Because right now, _you_ are what he wants.

“Yeah yeah. Less talking, more fucking, please,” you reply, trying to sound bored instead of wildly aroused and mildly terrified.  
  
A distant part of you wonders what he’d have looked like as a human, but it’s quickly forgotten when he makes a snarling sound, like some sort of goddamn _animal,_ then lets those cool metal fingers slip beneath your (rather scandalously-short) skirt and strokes his claws over the soaked patch of your panties. You can’t help the whimper that escapes you when he roughly knees your thighs apart and takes himself in hand, his shiny silver cock so thick and long you’re not sure all of it will even fit inside of you.  
  
_Holy_ **_fuck._ ** _This is either the best day or the last day of my life._

 _Or both._  
  
“Do you want the big bad killbot to fuck you, little girl?”  
  
“Yes,” you gasp, finally recovering some of your ability to think. “Fuck yes, oh my god, please--”  
  
You can feel your cheeks burning, because you sound like an idiot. He laughs that deep, dark, cruel laugh as he shoves your panties to the side, blunting the tips of his fingers before stuffing two of them into your cunt and curling them upward, right into a spot that makes your hips jerk forward involuntarily.  
  
_“Agh!_ Oh god, oh _fuck--”_ you shudder when you feel a smooth metal thumb against your clit. “Fuck, that feels so good…”  
  
_“Mnnnngh,”_ he growls, again animal-like, fucking you with his fingers a little harder.  
  
You open your eyes to see him staring down at your exposed form -- skirt shoved up your thighs, shirt pulled down in the front, breasts exposed, underwear now sliced off and flung across the room to make room for the pair of metal fingers currently stretching you open, twisting and curling and making your eyes roll back with each flick of the robot’s wrist. 

“Y-you’re not gonna like...murder me or anything after this, right?” you can’t help but ask. You blame the alcohol. “Or like...during it.”  
  
He laughs.  
  
“The only thing getting murdered tonight is this tight little pussy, skinsuit.”  
  
You feel yourself flush, and the sound that escapes you when he roughly squeezes a third finger into you is utterly embarrassing, but it feels so goddamn good you can’t quite make yourself care.  
_  
_ _Sorry, neighbors..._

You can hear him breathing heavily, huskily, which is odd because he doesn’t _need_ to breathe. Some parts of him are still so unnervingly _human,_ even though his outer shell is all machine. Those yellow eyes are fixed on your prone form, opticals zoomed-in on the sight of your cunt swallowing his fingers as he fucks you with one hand and strokes himself with the other.  
  
You whine, biting your lip, slipping closer to the edge but just not close enough, wishing he’d just _fuck_ you already.  
  
“Please,” you whimper, whining again when he pulls his fingers from your cunt to slip them into his mouth.  
  
“Fuck, you taste good,” he grunts, sucking your essence from his claws as best he can without a tongue. “And you look so fuckin’ good laid out for me like this.”  
  
You feel your cheeks redden more as he reaches forward to yank down the last remaining bit of your top that’s still partially covering one breast, finally baring them both to his brutal touch. Those frigid metal claws knead them roughly, the right hand thumbing a nipple just before the robotic assassin lowers his mouth to the left, pinching it gently between his hard metal lips.  
  
_“Ah!”_ you gasp at the unexpected sensation. 

Everything about him is just so cold and hard and delightfully foreign to you. Most robots with sexual capabilities are covered in SynthSkyn and medical grade silicone. Some of the fancier ones even have artificial body heat. Revenant has none of these luxuries, and he’s _perfect._ You squeak when he nips your throat with those freezing lips, and you can feel his voice reverberate through his chest -- and your own -- as he chuckles, still mouthing at your bare skin.  
  
When he pulls back, you go to pull your skirt off, but he snatches your wrists, pinning them together above your head with a single hand and growling, “No. It stays on.”  
  
“Okay,” you breathe, shuddering with anticipation, fear, and pure adrenaline.  
  
“That’s a good skinsuit,” he purrs, releasing your arms in favor of parting your thighs and shoving your skirt up far enough to bring his cold, copper-plated mouth to the bare flesh of your exposed cunt.  
  
_“Fuck!”_ you curse at the unexpected contact, unable to resist grinding against his face.  
  
You’re not sure what the hell he’s doing, because you both know he doesn’t have a tongue, but you’re not about to stop him, and not sure you even want to. You nearly scream when he slips two fingers into you again, fucking you with his monstrous metal hands as he mouths at your swollen clit, letting the ridges of his hard, slick, copper-plated lips glide back and forth over it.

 _How does a robot with no tongue still eat pussy better than any dude I’ve ever fucked? Holy fucking hell._  
  
The sheer sight of his terrifying-yet-somehow-handsome face between your thighs has your heart pounding in your ears. He groans against your cunt, vibrating your clit a little as he strokes your g-spot with two long, blunted talons, staring you down with those bright yellow eyes. It isn’t long before you’re beginning to tighten up around his fingers, starting to shake and shudder and beg for release.  
  
“I’m, um-- _ah!_ \--g-gonna cum if you don’t st-stop--oh god, _ngh, fuck!_ I-- _hnnnnnnnnghh!”_

“Come on, little skinsuit,” that velvety, dark voice says, even though his mouth is currently _occupied._ “Let Daddy taste you…”

_FUCK._

You cum with a wrecked little cry, grinding your clit against the ridges of his smooth, hard lips and arching up off the bed as you gush into his greedy metal mouth, and all over his probing fingers.  
  
“So sweet,” the Spectre groans once he’s finished swallowing you down. He mouths at his fingers, yellow eyes boring into your nearly-naked form with a hungry sort of glow as he tastes you on his slick metal fingertips for the second time that evening. “But I think I want a second helping of dessert.”  
  
You whine eagerly as he kneels between your legs, rubbing his cockhead through the slickness between your thighs and making you cry out each time his glans drags over your swollen clit.  
  
“You said you’ve fucked a robot before,” Revenant says again. “But never a Simulacrum?”  
  
You gaze up at him, nodding, and hoping that it’s not some kind of deal-breaker, or something, because all of a sudden you really, _really_ wanna fuck a Simulacrum.  
  
He’s silent for a moment, looking you over like he could eat you alive.  
  
“I’ve got another question for you, girlie,” he growls, lowering himself over you again and mouthing at your throat, still teasing your opening with the tip of his dick.  
  
_“Mmmm,”_ you sigh, grinding up against him. “What is it?”  
  
He pauses, bringing his mouth up to your ear and pinching the lobe between his metal lips before growling against your throat, “Have you ever fucked a _monster?”_ _  
_  
Before you can answer, the breath is stolen from your lungs when he buries his massive cock in you in a single vicious thrust, bottoming out with a groan and tightening his grip on your hips as he grinds himself into you.  
  
_“Ah!”_  
  
_“Fuck,_ skinsuit,” he gasps, as if he has breath to run out of in the first place. _“Nghh,_ fuck, you’re so _tight…”_  
  
It _is_ a tight squeeze, to be sure, but you’re certain that has more to do with the massive murder-robot dick currently tearing you apart than the size or depth of your cunt itself.  
  
“I’m gonna ruin this tight little pussy, _fuck,”_ Revenant snarls, rising up on his knees and pulling the lower half of your body up with him effortlessly as he slams you down on his enormous cock. "Send you limping back to that bar, let all your stupid skinsuit boyfriends see who this sweet little cunt really belongs to."

You're speechless, because nothing about this is anything like you expected it to be but _fuck,_ it's so good you never want it to stop.

The Spectre's strange, extendable fingers wrap all the way around your waist as he grips you, sliding you up and down his cock like a toy, like you weigh absolutely nothing at all. Your bare tits bounce with each merciless thrust, and the thought of what you must look like has your cheeks burning with shame.

“God, look at you,” Revenant groans, seemingly zeroing in on your insecurities and staring plainly at your exposed flesh as he fucks you with increasing desperation. “I knew the second I saw this tight little body wrapped up in this _obscene_ fuckin’ outfit, fuck, I knew I had to sink my claws into you, had to taste you, had to-- _god,_ shit, shit, _fuck! Ngh,_ this tight little cunt’s gonna make me cum, skinsuit!”  
  
You keen as his cockhead nudges your core, feeling your pussy ripple helplessly around the massive intrusion. The Spectre peels a hand from your hip, stroking his fingers beneath the fabric of your skirt and over your bare belly, which distends slightly with each thrust of his inhumanly large cock. He reaches down with his other hand, stuffing his thumb into your mouth, then begins thumbing your clit with it as he picks up the pace, jerking his cock into you with more force every second.  
  
_“Ah! Ah! Ah!”_ you cry out with each brutal thrust of his hips. "Fuck, Rev…"  
  
“That’s it, princess,” he growls, voice ragged. “Just take it. Take Daddy’s big metal cock and let him make it all better…”

You wail each time his cockhead bumps against your cervix, face reddening at his filthy words, but that smooth, slick thumb slipping back and forth over your clit is going to be your undoing, no matter how ashamed you are. Your cunt is starting to clench around him, rhythmically squeezing his massive length as your orgasm approaches. 

Then his cock starts to vibrate, and you nearly scream.  
  
_“Agh!”_ you sob, shuddering around his dick. _“Nnngh,_ oh my fucking _god, I--”_  
  
“Come on, skinsuit,” he grunts, grinding against your g-spot and pinching the flesh of your throat between his cold metal lips. “Cum on my cock. I want it, give it to me.”  
  
_“Rev--!”_ you gasp, but then you’re following his orders against your will, cumming and clenching around him so tightly that at first, you don’t even realize that you’re _squirting_ all over him, too.  
  
_“Fuck_ yeah, skinsuit. Look at you making a mess for me,” the Spectre snarls, fucking into you so hard each thrust bumps you further up the bed. "Good thing I'm fuckin' waterproof, shit."

Shame burns you. You're trembling, still blown apart by your orgasm as the Spectre continues taking whatever he wants from your limp, spent body.

One metal claw is gripping your hip again, yanking it down to meet his own as the other hand stuffs two sharp fingers between your swollen lips, extending them down your throat. You moan, swallowing around them and beginning to suck them as you gaze lazily up at him, and that is, evidently, what sends him over the edge, because a moment later he’s swearing, tearing those fingers from your lips and gripping your waist with both frightening metal claws as he spills into you, cock buzzing, filling you with so much artificial cum it leaves you feeling -- and looking -- a little bloated. You’re more distracted, however, by the fact that he appears to have turned into some sort of fucking _demon._ The moment his orgasm hit, his entire body erupted into a strange, smoky sort of ectoplasm, curling upwards like smoke, little embers taking flight from places that, moments ago, were entirely made of metal. Every part of him is suddenly extremely warm to the touch, and you gasp at the shock of being impaled on his thick heat as he continues fucking into you, warming you from the inside out and the outside in. Everywhere that strange, smokiness is touching your flesh feels like fire, like licking flames teasing the most sensitive parts of your body, so good it almost hurts. Almost.  
  
_Holy_ **_fuck_ ** _\--_

You can’t speak, or even make a sound, the sudden switch from frigid metal to searing ghost-warmth seems to have stolen your voice altogether. Well, that and the whole demonic transformation thing.

 _“Nnnnnngh_ that feels _good,”_ Revenant snarls as he empties himself inside you, almost like he’s _surprised_ that it feels good. _  
_  
You blush, feeling his synthetic seed leaking out around his cock where it’s still sunken deep within you. He groans, burying his face in your shoulder and grinding his cock a little deeper as the vibrating slows to a standstill and his orgasm finally subsides. A few seconds later, with a sound like somebody’s soul being sucked through a straw, his appearance returns to its original form, and everything hot and smoky has become cold and solid once more. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.  
  
“Fuck, it’s been _so long…”_ he sighs after a moment, finally pulling out and rolling over to lie beside you.  
  
You can’t really imagine a guy like this having a dry spell. Not a long one, anyway. He certainly doesn’t seem out of practice, that’s for goddamn sure. 

“So long since what?” you ask, genuinely curious. “Since you fucked a skinsuit?”  
  
Revenant laughs softly, rolling over on his side and sizing you up as he scans your body with those glowing yellow eyes again, staring shamelessly as his seed leaks from your cunt. It’s _blue._  
  
“No,” he says softly, after a moment. “Since I fucked a woman.”  
  
_Oh. Wow._  
  
“You ladies tend to be a little less reckless than your male counterparts,” he goes on, plucking a cigarette from a box hidden within one of the pouches attached to his chestplates and lighting it with the little blowtorch concealed in the end of his thumb. “A little more fearful. A little less likely to have a deathwish. A _lot_ less likely to fuck a monster.”  
  
You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing, just nod and reach over to snatch his cigarette, taking a few drags before handing it back  
  
“I haven’t fucked a woman in a little under three centuries,” he murmurs, after a moment of silence.  
  
“Bullshit,” you interject, having finally had enough of his _poor-me_ act. “You just fucked one two minutes ago!”  
  
That gets a chuckle out of him, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as he takes another drag of the cigarette, then leans back on the pillows and exhales smoke into the air.  
  
“Well,” you can’t help but wonder. “Was it...good?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, chuckling at the way you squeak when he runs two cold fingers through the synthetic cum leaking from your swollen cunt. “It was fuckin' _delicious_. But it ain’t over yet.”  
  
_“Oh!”_ you gasp as he flicks the cigarette out your open window and drags you down to straddle his hips.  
  
“I’m nowhere near done with you, girlie,” he grunts, parting your thighs and thrusting his rigid cock right up into the tight, wet cavern between them. "Not even close."

You both cry out at once as he slams himself deep. If not for his hands around your ribs, you’d surely collapse right onto your face, but the angle and the pressure are so good you just can’t do anything but continue to grind down in his lap and keep bouncing on his cock as he puppeteers your comparatively weak body any way he pleases.  
  
“Yes, yes, _fuck,_ so good--” you gasp, lifting your hips up a few inches just to slam them back down again.  
  
“Come on, skinsuit, ride my cock,” Revenant groans, fingers tightening around your hips as he bucks up into you. “Fuck yeah, just like that. Just like that, sweet girl…god, you look so fuckin’ perfect like this.”  
  
You flush from both the exertion and the praise, knowing you must look an absolute disaster with your clothes half-torn off, hair frazzled, mascara running down your cheeks and lipstick smeared across your mouth. Sweat is pooling in the hollows of your clavicles, dripping down your neck from behind your ears. Cum from the robot’s first orgasm is leaking out of you with each bounce of his hips and it all just feels so fucking _dirty..._ you can’t help it, you’re already close again.  
  
_“Nnngh,_ I could eat you alive,” the Simulacrum snarls, beginning to bounce you forcefully on his cock and giving your ass a rough slap. “Just eat this hot little skinsuit ass right up, _fuck…”_ _  
_ _  
_ With little warning, he yanks you up and off his slippery cock, shoving you face first into your mattress and yanking your hips up, pulling your lower half up onto your knees and exposing your cunt to whatever delicious torture was coming next. Your thighs, you notice, are beginning to shake with both fear and anticipation.  
  
Okay, yeah. Mostly anticipation.  
  
“God, please just _fuck_ me already!” you can’t help but whine into your pillow.  
  
He laughs dangerously, then gives one of your exposed asscheeks another good slap, ripping a pathetic whimper from your throat.

"So bossy," he teases, causing little goosebumps to sprout all over your back as he trails a single metal fingertip down your spine, from the back of your neck to your tailbone. 

“Please…” you sigh, gasping when he slips two of those strange metal fingers into your cunt, which is still leaking blue cum from round one. It’s dripping down your inner thighs, and the sensation of the Spectre’s strong fingers lazily thrusting into your already-overfilled cunt is just causing more blue cum to cascade down your thighs.  
  
“Fuckin’ hell, skinsuit,” Revenant groans, kneeling on the mattress behind you and slapping your ass again with the hand that doesn’t currently have its fingers buried in your cunt. “Look at you. Such a dirty girl...”  
  
_“Please,”_ you gasp again, burning hot with both humiliation and arousal.  
  
He teases your clit with his rigid length, earning a pathetic cry that makes him chuckle in that deep, delicious voice.

You whimper, trying to rut back on his cock and sobbing into your pillow when you find that you can’t, because one of those awful, hideous, beautiful hands has wrapped itself around your middle, extending its fingers long enough to completely encircle your waist and pin you in place. You whine pathetically when he pulls the fingers of his other hand from your leaking cunt, though you’re sobbing a moment later when those fingers are replaced with the blunt head of his cock. But still, he doesn’t enter you. Much to your frustration, he just circles your slippery entrance and teases your clit with his leaking cockhead.  
  
You feel him lean down, looming over your body and bringing his lips near your ear to murmur, “Beg for it, skinsuit.”  
  
You whine with humiliation, flushing red from your ears to the center of your chest.

"Please...please fuck me," you murmur softly, unable to look him in the eyes.  
  
“No, no, no,” he growls against your throat, still pinning you in place with one hand as the other teases you with the smooth, slippery head of his oversized cock. “You’re gonna let me hear it.”  
  
“Please!” you gasp, struggling fruitlessly in his iron grip.  
  
“Oh, you can do better than that,” he says sardonically, still tracing lazy circles around your entrance and occasionally slapping your clit with the tip of his dick. “I wanna hear why. Why you want it so fuckin’ bad.”  
  
You let out a defeated cry of frustration.  
  
“I--d-dunno,” you gasp out, tears of desperation beginning to leak from your eyes. “You’re interesting. You’re--you’re just--you’re fuckin’ _hot,_ okay? And funny, and charming -- sort of -- despite being a massive dick. Also you are fucking _terrifying._ I mean, what can I say? Who wouldn't be intrigued by a hot, asskicking robo-dude with a giant dick who could murder you in the blink of an eye without even working up a sweat? It's thrilling. I was just, um...curious. You’re...weirdly handsome, in your own freaky little way, and I obviously have some sort of deathwish or daddy issues or something because all of that just turns me the fuck o--”  
  
You don’t get to finish because he’s suddenly filling you, all of you, so full you never want him to stop. You sob with relief when he loosens his grip on your torso enough for you to grind back on his cock.  
  
_“Ah!_ \--Fuck, I-- _nnnnngh,_ Rev…”  
  
He hasn’t said a word except to snarl like a fucking prowler when he tightens his grip on your hips again before pulling out a bit, then yanking them back on his cock.  
  
_“FUCK!”_ you both cry out so loudly there’s no possible way your neighbors don’t hear it.  
  
_Oops._

_You know what? Fuck it._

_Fuck. It._

You’re a mess, shaking, sobbing, drooling into your pillow, simultaneously desperate to cum again and so overstimulated you’re not even sure if you can. Revenant pulls back a few inches, then jerks your hips back to meet another brutal thrust. The cum from his last orgasm is spilling out of you with each thrust and dripping messily down onto the sheets between your knees. 

There’s a problem, though, and it’s that he won’t just fucking _go_ already. He’s filling you to the absolute limit, then just...stopping. Pinning you there, impaled on his girth, unable to escape nor to seek more pressure or friction. He’s just watching you struggle and cry and squirm on his cock, like he’s enjoying the show more than the act itself.  
  
“Please!” you sob, tears streaming, voice so ragged you know it’ll be hoarse tomorrow. Assuming you survive tonight. “Please, Rev, I--I c-can’t--fuck, _please,_ I need it so bad, I-- _ahhh…”_  
  
You trail off when you feel his long, thin fingers slipping up from the back of your neck to the base of your skull, threading through your disheveled locks and gently massaging your scalp before roughly fisting a handful of your hair and chuckling at the surprised little yelp that escapes you when he tugs it. You’re yanked upwards and back, your spine pressed against his chestplates as he rests his chin on your shoulder and growls, “Such a greedy little thing.”  
  
You whine, because he’s right.

He releases your hair, wrapping his palm instead around your throat and pulling out a few inches only to slam back in with such force you can’t help but squeal. He sets a brutal, unforgiving pace, one hand still firmly gripping your throat as the other drifts down your body, over your slightly-distended belly, down to where your thighs meet. You wail when those cool, slippery fingers graze your swollen clit, then gently begin slipping back and forth over it.  
  
“Is this good enough?” the Spectre snarls into your ear, before pinching the lobe between his hard metal lips. “Do you think your shitty little vibrator could fuck you this good?”  
  
_“No!”_ you gasp, thighs starting to shake each time his cockhead grazes your g-spot. “God n-no, just you, only you…”

“You're goddamn right only me,” he snaps, grunting with each merciless thrust. “Nothin’ on this fuckin’ planet or any other will make you cum like I can. They don’t make fuckbots that choke people anymore.”  
  
You shudder in his arms, toes starting to curl as he tightens his grip on your throat just a hair, still roughly thrusting his cock in to the hilt and laughing when you let out a particularly pathetic sob.  
  
“Please, _please…”_ you cry weakly. “I’m g-gonna--ohgod, please let me--”  
  
He laughs cruelly again, mouthing at your throat and nipping at the flesh that isn’t covered by his hand.  
  
“You gonna squirt for me, little girl?” he purrs deviously against your neck. “You gonna gush all over my cock again?”  
  
“Please, I want to…” you whine, cheeks flushing pink as you let your head loll back on his shoulder, giving him more room to mark you with that cold metal mouth. You know you’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow -- throat, hips, belly, thighs -- but it will have been worth it, as far as you’re concerned. Assuming you live to _see_ tomorrow, that is.

“Please, Rev--” you start again, but you’re cut off when he suddenly tightens his grip on your throat, squeezing harder, though still far more gently than you know he’s truly capable of. Before you can suck down a strangled lungful of oxygen, he’s burying his cock as deep as it will go...and then it starts to vibrate, and you are _ruined._  
  
_“Agh! Ngghhhhohgodohgodoh--REV!”_  
  
The sounds coming out of you would be embarrassing if you were mentally present enough to hear them, but you’re currently on cloud nine, where all you can hear is the thud of your blood pounding through your veins, beneath his hands, in your ears, and all you can feel are the stabbing knives of pleasure that slice through you with every thrust of his hips, every glide of his fingertips over your clit. You can hear a voice -- your voice, you realize -- but she sounds very far away. She also sounds like she’s either being murdered, or having the best night of her life. As you’re not covered in blood, you assume it’s the latter. You can feel that your thighs and the bed below you are even wetter than before, and that must be because of you, as you’re pretty sure the Spectre hasn’t cum yet, seeing as how he’s still pounding you like his life -- or death, or whatever -- depends on it.  
  
_“Shit,_ skinsuit,” he groans, releasing your throat and rolling you both over, rearranging you on top of him as he reclines on his back, bouncing you on that unforgiving metal cock as your cunt continues rippling around it. “God, you’re so. fuckin’. tight. _Fuck!”_

He holds you up as he thrusts up into you, seeing as how your legs have recently been turned to jelly and you can’t reliably do the job yourself.  
  
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! _Fuck!”_ he snarls, punctuating each curse with a rough upward thrust. “Goddamn, babygirl. You look so fuckin’ good like this, you _feel_ so fuckin’ good, Jesus _Christ...”_ _  
_  
You whine, cheeks burning with embarrassment, whimpering when you feel his cock start to buzz rhythmically inside you and you know he’s getting close. His claws have released your hips, you notice, and suddenly, inspiration strikes.  
  
“No! What’re you--” Revenant protests when you roll off him, leaving his rigid cock still pulsing and leaking blue precum, unsatisfied. 

His complaints promptly cease, however, once your mouth closes around his length, taking him deep and swallowing around the thick intrusion as best you can.  
  
“Jesus _fuck--”_ he all but chokes, both skeletal hands flying to your hair. “W-what’re you d-doing…”  
  
You pull off his cock with a soft little _pop!_  
  
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you snark back at him. “I’m sucking your dick, you ungrateful ass.”

Before he can reply, you take him deep again, relishing the way he whines when your throat ripples around his cockhead.  
  
_“Fuck,_ babygirl,” he moans, combing his fingers through your hair affectionately. “That sweet little mouth, Jesus _fuck…”_  
  
_Ain’t so sweet after all, is it?_ you think deviously, deepthroating his cock and relishing the way it starts to vibrate a little each time you take him deep. His hips are rising up to meet your lips, both his metal hands are tangled in your hair, his jaw agape as he fucks up into your throat, making noises that grow less human, less robotic by the second, and more animalistic, almost demonic, with each shuddering buzz of his cock between your lips.  
  
The strangled, choked snarling sound that escapes him when he finally hits his peak is more delicious than any dessert in the whole Frontier. His spinal column arches, hips rising up off the bed as he grips your hair, thrusting two, three times into the tightness of your throat before painting it blue with a ruined moan and collapsing back down to the mattress in a shuddering, shaking heap. 

_Fuck, he’s...handsome. So handsome._

The thought strikes you as strange, out of place, an odd one to have while looking at a skull-faced killing machine that just finished squirting mysterious blue dick-juice down your throat, but it’s thankfully interrupted before you can give it too much consideration.

“God _damn,_ girlie,” he gasps, breathless despite not needing air. “Fuckin’ A, you make me wish I still had a tongue.”  
  
He says it in jest, but there’s an ache in his voice when he speaks, and you sense there’s a painful kernel of truth to that statement. He does wish he had a tongue. He does miss parts of his humanity.  
  
_Oof._  
  
You stroke his faceplate, shuddering when you imagine what it must be like to be tongueless, yet still able to taste your own empty, copper-plated mouth. After a moment, he rests one of his lethal, metal hands over your own, holding it against his jaw before leaning in to capture your lips with his own.  
  
“You are so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says without removing his mouth from yours. “For a skinsuit.”  
  
“So are you,” you gasp, pulling back only long enough to get the oxygen required to speak. “For a bag of bones.”  
  
He laughs, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that he’s a tongueless, murderous monster that could kill you with a flick of his wrist. All that matters is the feeling of your warm tongue in his cold mouth, the ticklishness of his metal fingertips slipping up your bare thigh, under your tattered skirt, and the warm, safe sense of satisfaction that comes over you when he wraps those skeletal metal arms around your waist and pulls you in close as he kisses you with a surprising amount of tender softness for someone who’s made of metal. Even more surprising is how easily you find yourself drifting off to sleep, feeling safe and secure in the arms of a monster.

\---

You awaken the next day exhausted, sore, and alone. Not that you expected to find yourself in any other condition, of course -- Revenant didn’t exactly seem like the kind of bot that stuck around for breakfast the morning after -- but still, a part of you ached slightly at his absence (no, not THAT part of you...though that part was aching too, for other reasons). It was an irritating feeling that gnawed at you and put you in a grumpy mood which only worsened as the morning progressed...until you looked at your phone.

 **Unknown Sender 9:34AM:** Sorry, skinsuit. Couldn’t stick around to spoon this time. Had a few felonies to commit.  
  
**Unknown Sender 9:36AM:** ...same time next week?  
  
You message him back, _‘Hmm, we’ll see.’_  
  
**Unknown Sender 9:37AM:** Tease.  
  
But what you’re really thinking is _‘Absofuckinglutely.’_

You only live once, afterall, so why not? If you want to fuck a killing machine, who cares? And if, next Tuesday evening, a certain murder robot finds his way back into your bed...well, who has to know?  
  
(Except your neighbors. They’ll know. ‘Cause of the screaming. Hard to miss, that.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This one was just for funsies, but any and all feedback is highly appreciated! 
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter of [Spider Byte](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112400/chapters/50238212), which will be out soon! Sorry again for the delay, but I'm trying to make sure I get things right, especially because shit is popping off in the canon Shadowverse now so I have alllll kinds of fun stuff to insert into the next chapter but I have to make sure it all lines up. I was dealing with lame health stuff recently and sorta fell behind, so that's why it's taken so long. I assure you I'm working diligently to crank out the next chapter! In the meantime, feel free to check out [my Tumblr](http://www.holosuit-hacker.tumblr.com) to see what I'm up to and catch a glimpse of whatever in-progress project I happen to be working on at the moment.
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
